


Ripped at Every Edge (But You're a Masterpiece)

by alpha_exodus



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Kent is actually a sap, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Pick-Up Lines, Polyamory, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7084768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/pseuds/alpha_exodus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would've been easier to deal with this all if Bitty still hated Kent. But if he hated Kent, he wouldn't have slept with him in the first place, and Jack wouldn't be sitting in front of him with jealousy darkening eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripped at Every Edge (But You're a Masterpiece)

**Author's Note:**

> feat. bad pick up lines and lots of love <3 this is actually mostly a happy story I promise haha!
> 
> thanks to yoursummerfrost for giving this a readover, and to ngozi as always for her lovely characters!
> 
> title from halsey's "Colors"

Bitty’s been suffocating all week—the secret is burying him alive, and every time he sees Jack it's like another shovel-full of dirt on his grave.

Jack notices, Bitty knows he does. But Jack doesn't say anything for the whole week until, on Saturday, Bitty sees him coming down the hallway and turns right back around to avoid him.

"Bittle!" Jack says, and Bitty stops in his tracks.

"Jack—"

"What is your problem? You've been avoiding me all week," Jack huffs.

Slowly, Bitty turns around. He'd been expecting anger in Jack's eyes but instead he sees sadness, and that makes this even worse.

He can't hide it anymore.

"Jack—I'm so sorry, I—" he tries, then has to suck in another breath of air.

The words feel like choking, every one of them.

"I slept with Kent."

The color drains out of Jack's face. God, if Bitty could unsay it he would, but then he would’ve been lying because he _did_ sleep with Kent and yeah, it was the best fucking sex of his admittedly-not-too-experienced life. "You—what?" Jack whispers.

"Please don't make me say it again," Bitty whimpers back.

Jack is visibly trembling now, crossing his arms over himself. "Bedroom. Now," he commands, and Bitty had imagined him saying those words so many times in an entirely different context, and _God_ , this sucks.

He follows Jack into his room, limbs feeling rubbery and slow. Jack closes the door behind him and then starts pacing back and forth.

A minute passes.

Finally Jack plops down at his desk chair, and when Bitty can bear to look at his expression, it's twisted into a wounded scowl. "I thought you hated him!" Jack growls.

"I did," Bitty sighs, because this would be so so much easier if he could just keep hating Kent like before. But now when he closes his eyes, all he can see is Kent smirking, laughing, whispering terrible pick-up lines into Bitty's ear—he wants that, even though it conflicts with the ever-present way he wants Jack.

"Then why?" Jack asks, and all the anger suddenly falls away, replaced by something that looks almost like longing and a lot like he’s tearing apart.

"Because then I talked to him," Bitty wraps his arms around himself, because maybe if he squeezes tight enough he can hold Jack together too. “And—he was nothing like I thought he would be."

xXx

The lights are spinning around him, making him dizzy. Dimly, Bitty’s aware he has a cup in his hand, but he’s forgotten what’s in it. Not good. He should really get some water.

Part of him doesn’t want to stop drinking, because every time he closes his eyes he sees the broken look on Jack’s face when Jack had realized Parse was here. Here _again_ , because it seems like Parse doesn’t know when to call it quits. Bitty had thought all this was over after the Epikegster last semester—apparently it’s not.

And Jack had immediately disappeared into his room and locked the door, and Parse had disappeared to who knows where, and Bitty’s delight at their game win had disappeared with both of them.

Water, he thinks. But fuck, his kitchen’s probably a mess. _He’s_ a mess, and he doesn’t know if he wants to see his kitchen feeling like he is right now, so he stumbles out to the back porch instead because at least there he can get some air. Except there are people on the porch, so he ambles further until he’s almost standing in the thin border of trees that separates the Haus from the bars that run along the street behind it.

It’s there that he finds Kent fucking Parson, sitting against a tree, flannel rumpled and hat knocked askew. Parse’s eyes are closed—Bitty almost thinks he’s asleep. But then he stirs, blearily opening his eyes, and looks up at Bitty.

Parse’s eyes are red. Bitty pretends not to notice.

“The fuck you looking at?” Parse mutters, and Bitty bristles.

“You—Kent _Parson_ , what the hell are you doing here?” he glares.

“ _Here_ , here, or this party, here?”

Bitty rolls his eyes—smart ass. “What do you think?”

Parse gives him a look. “Well, I came to the party to see Jack, obviously. And I’m here sitting against a tree because Jack won’t even talk to me. Case solved. Happy?” Parse looks pointedly away, and it’s then in his profile that Bitty can see how hurt he looks.

Bitty’s still mad. He’s not mad enough to avoid the trickle of guilt that drips down his back at making Parse feel bad.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, face heating in discomfort.

“Whatever,” Parse shrugs. “Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong person, I guess,” he adds, and Bitty’s suddenly not sure if Parse is talking about him or Jack.

“Can I sit?” Bitty asks, and Parse thunks his head against the tree.

“Sure, why not? It’s your house.”

So Bitty sits, even though he’s not sure why he even wants to. Even sitting a foot away, he can see that Parse is trembling just a little. “Are you cold?”

“Wha?” Parse looks over at him. “Oh. Nah, just sad,” he shrugs, and Bitty’s both surprised he’d admitted it and suddenly very, very ashamed for making this worse for him. Because yeah, Jack is Bitty’s friend, his crush, but that doesn’t really give him license to make other people feel like shit. Even if ‘people’ means Kent Parson.

But—“There’s not really any way I can help, is there,” Bitty surmises ruefully.

“Nah, don’t bother,” Parse shakes his head. “I just need to stew for a while. I’ll bounce back,” he sighs, but then he gives Bitty a sidelong glance.

“What?” Bitty breathes, because it had looked like Parse wanted to ask him something.

“You could hug me, I guess,” Parse shrugs as if this is nothing, as if he hugs boys in their backyards all the time.

But even though his shoulders are broader than Bitty’s, Parse suddenly looks so, so small.

Bitty leans over and puts his arms around him.

xXx

“Are you mad?” Bitty asks Jack. He’s still standing in the middle of the room, even though he wishes he could run and hide far, far away.

Jack grits his teeth. “No.”

“Really?” Bitty persists.

“…Maybe a little. I don’t want to be, though,” Jack sighs, putting his head in his hands. Bitty wants to come closer, to comfort him, but his feet are frozen to the floorboards.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again.

“Don’t be,” Jack mumbles, muffled by his hands. “Kent isn’t—he’d probably be upset if you regretted it.”

Bitty’s chest burns. “I—I don’t regret it.”

Jack doesn’t move. “Good. He’s not a bad person.”

Bitty takes a deep breath, takes a step closer. “I know.”

xXx

Parse’s skin is surprisingly warm for the amount of time he must have been sitting here outside. Parse is leaning his head against Bitty’s, and Bitty’s arms are stretched around him, his body feeling warm and hazy. He wonders where his cup went. He’s not sure he could remember if he tried.

“How drunk are you?” he asks Parse, and Parse chuckles.

“I’m not. Came out here to get sober,” he shrugs and ends up bumping Bitty’s chin in the process. “Oops.”

“That’s all right.”

“You, on the other hand, reek of alcohol—Bittle, is it?” Parse says, and Parse hasn’t tried to move away yet but he isn’t really hugging back either.

“Bitty.”

“Hmm. You are tiny, makes sense,” Parse hums.

“Shut up. ‘S’not why. Just a nickname,” Bitty mumbles.

“Here. I’ve got water,” Parse picks up a cup from the grass and holds it in front of Bitty’s face. Bitty stares at it suspiciously. “Oh, c’mon, I’m not like—what, a predator or something? It’s water.”

Bitty drops his arms but stays at Parse’s side, feeling ashamed for even letting those kinds of thoughts creep into his brain. He takes the cup, which is two-thirds of the way full, sipping at it slowly. “Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot, don’t you?”

“Jack does it more,” Bitty says, and Parse tenses; Bitty can feel it all up and down where his side touches Parse. “Crap, sorry. I guess I shouldn’t bring it up.”

“You like him.” It’s not a question.

“Uh. Yes.” Bitty’s not sure why he gives an answer. He wonders if he can deny it later on the grounds of drunkenness.

Parse starts to laugh, and for a split second Bitty wonders if he’s insane. “Shit, Bitty, you know—if you squint, you and I look pretty similar?”

Oh God, now Bitty can’t unthink it. He wrinkles his nose. “That’s weird.”

“Not really. Zimms just has a very specific type,” Parse smirks. “Huh, at least we’re both adorable. I guess Zimms has good taste.”

Bitty doesn’t know what makes him feel weirder: the sheer height of Parse’s ego, or the fact that he’d maybe-inadvertently just called Bitty adorable. “That’s assuming he likes me at all.”

“Oh, he does,” Parse deadpans.

Bitty doesn’t know how to respond to that, but his heart does a couple of flips in his chest. “Well then—I guess he does have good taste,” he says eventually, and he means to sound confident but instead his voice comes out sort of husky—it’s the alcohol, maybe, or the proximity, or Parse’s cologne.

Parse winks at him. _Winks_. That moment, more than anything, begins to pull him out of his insobriety—he’s sitting in the backyard against a tree, draped over a guy who’d basically just ripped Jack to pieces an hour or two ago. And even if Jack has said some nasty things to Parse before, that doesn’t mean Bitty should be—this. Whatever this is.

Slowly, he shifts away from Parse’s side, and Parse has the nerve to look disappointed. “What?” Bitty murmurs, wrapping his arms around his knees instead.

Parse shrugs. “Eh, nothing. I shouldn’t be expecting—I mean, shit, it’s not like you’re gonna go for me, yeah?”

Bitty blinks at him, because he hadn’t been thinking about _flirting_ of all things but now it’s all he can think about. Because he’d definitely been flirting, just a little.

He doesn’t know at all if it’d been intentional.

One thing’s for sure—he’s currently feeling guilty as hell, because Jack means more to him than—what, getting laid? He’s pretty sure Parse wouldn’t want anything more than sex (although he’s been way, way different than Bitty had anticipated, so—who knows, really. Bitty certainly doesn’t.)

But Bitty is also very painfully aware that the chances of Jack making a move on him are infinitesimal at best, no matter what Parse might think. And the warmth from Parse’s body still lingers all up and down his side; the sense memory is making him all tingly. His heart flutters without his permission.

Parse is there, and Jack is not.

Bitty breathes in. “Are you saying you would go for _me_?”

Parse leans back, looks him up and down. “Uh—yeah. I would.”

Bitty blinks. “O-oh.”

“So,” Parse says, stretching, “How many pick-up lines would it take to convince you to sleep with me?” he gives Bitty a lazy grin, and Bitty’s mouth gets very, very dry.

“What? Umm. I—I don’t know, a lot?” he stammers out, because he’s not sure he’s thought this all through properly.

“That’s fine, I’ve got time,” Parse raises his eyebrows up and down. “Gotta wait for you to sober up anyway, I don’t mess with drunk guys. Drink up,” Parse motions toward the water cup sitting between them.

Bitty grabs the water and sips it, partially so he can hide his face and partially because yeah, he wants to be sober for this. Lord, he’s sure he’s flushing redder than the solo cup, and he hasn’t even agreed to anything yet.

“By the way,” Parse murmurs, and Bitty looks up at him. “I don’t believe in love at first sight, yeah? But I might be willing to make an exception for you,” he winks.

Bitty chokes. Parse pats his back as he coughs the water out, and despite the discomfort in his throat, the touch sends blood rushing to his groin.

This is going to be a long night.

xXx

“Bittle, don’t,” Jack says.

Bitty stops in his tracks. He’s inches away from Jack; their knees are brushing, and he’s burning up inside. He wants to hug him, he wants to hold him—and Jack doesn’t want that.

He takes a step away.

“Bittle,” Jack says, and Bitty stops again.

“Yeah?” his voice cracks.

“I need—to think. Just—I’m really, really jealous.”

Bitty nods, because he probably would be jealous too, in Jack’s shoes.

“No, it’s—“ Jack cuts off, shaking his head as he gathers his words. “See, the problem is—I don’t know whether I’m jealous of you or jealous of Kent.”

Bitty’s heart is thudding so loudly he can hear it. “Is that—a bad thing?”

“Of course it is! I like _you_ , Kent’s just—oh, fuck, oops,” Jack covers his mouth with his hand.

“You—like me?” Bitty asks, breath coming faster because _Jack likes me Jack likes me Jack likes me_.

He really wants to hold him.

“Yeah,” Jack squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry, I guess it’s rude to be saying that now.”

“What? Why?” Bitty asks, surprised.

“Because—you’re dating Kent now, right?” Jack asks, and Bitty sucks in a tense breath.

“Oh, honey,” he says, because he can’t think what else to say—he isn’t dating Kent.

But he kind of wants to be.

xXx

“Hey—does your mom happen to be an artist?” Parse asks him from where he’s stretched out in the bed of dead leaves that coats the ground. Bitty swears that must be uncomfortable, but Parse seems to be enjoying himself so Bitty lets him be.

“No?” he answers carefully, because Parse has pulled out every pick-up line in the book in the past hour and Bitty has no doubt that this is one of them.

“Aww, that’s strange—cuz you’re a masterpiece,” Parse smirks, and Bitty rolls his eyes even though a smile is growing on his face.

“That one was ridiculous, Parson.”

“You’re the one who keeps falling right into them,” Parse chortles, leaning his head back and grinning at the sky in delight.

“You shush now,” Bitty chides, and before he knows what he’s doing, he reaches over and presses a hand to Parse’s mouth.

Parse’s eyes widen. Parse’s mouth is soft under Bitty’s hand, just a little stubbly and extremely warm.

Bitty snatches his hand away. “That was to shut you up,” he blurts out quickly.

“Riiight,” Parse draws the word out, and then he’s smiling softly up and Bitty—and that’s the moment that Bitty realizes that fuck, wow, he’s probably going to go through with this.

“Really,” he whispers.

But then he slowly, slowly reaches out again and runs his knuckles against Parse’s cheek. Parse catches his hand, holds it there for a moment, then turns and presses a warm kiss to the back of it.

Bitty shivers violently—this is _happening_ , isn’t it, _Lord_.

“Eight,” Parse says.

“Huh?” Bitty squints down at him. Even if what Parse said had been a logical continuation of the conversation, Bitty doesn’t know if he could’ve made sense of it because his hand’s so warm where he’s touching Parse; his head’s all muddled with excitement.

“It took eight bad pick-up lines for you to touch me again,” Parse murmurs against the skin of Bitty’s hand.

“Kent Parson, are you _actually_ trying to get into my pants like this?” Bitty grumbles, and even though it’s cool outside and they’ve been out there for what feels like forever, his body flashes fiery hot.

“It’s working, isn’t it?” Parse laughs, and Bitty tries to glare at him but it doesn’t work—instead he ends up accidentally staring longingly into Parse’s eyes, oh fuck.

“Maybe,” Bitty admits.

Parse turns Bitty’s hand and kisses the tips of his fingers, every touch sending a pulse of energy up Bitty’s arm. “Good.”

xXx

“Are you still in love with him?” the question falls from Bitty’s lips before he can stop it.

Jack purses his lips, looking frustrated. “I don’t know. I don’t—I try not to think about it—I don’t know if I _want_ to, because he’s—he reminds me of so much,” he shakes his head, and Bitty aches to reach forward and fix this all.

Bitty sighs. “You don’t want to love him, but.”

“But—he, I dunno. He still comes back, and I kind of miss him, and I wish I could just talk to him? But it always feels like it’s the wrong time, or like one of us is out of sync or something—I just end up getting angry.” Jack sits back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as if it will tell him all the answers.

“Would it—do you think it would help if I was there, maybe?” Bitty chews the inside of his lip, shifting onto his other foot.

Jack sits up and stares at him. “Are you—are you trying to get us together?” he asks, confused. “I’d ask if Kent put you up to this, but that’s not really his style. And besides—you like him?”

“I’m—yes. Wait, no. I don’t know,” Bitty looks away, because Jack’s eyes are too intense and too full of temptation all at once.

“Do. You. Like him?” Jack asks.

And Bitty hates it when Jack starts sounding angry like this, so he blurts out his answer as quickly as he can—“Yes,” he says, a little too loudly. He’s so nervous. Jack’s not going to like him anymore, Jack’s going to try to kick him out—

“Well. Fuck.” Jack grips the edges of his chair.

“Wait—I, um. I like you too, though,” Bitty clarifies because he doesn’t want Jack to get the wrong impression.

Jack’s eyes widen. “I don’t understand.”

“I like you. Like, romantically,” Bitty nearly whispers, and he’s pretty sure he’s actively dying of embarrassment.

“But you like Kent.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jack’s brow wrinkles.

Bitty feels jittery. “I mean—you like both of us too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but that’s—oh.” Jack blinks. “Oh. Okay. I guess that’s not—as weird as I thought. Okay. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Bitty murmurs.

“Bitty, can I—touch you?” Jack asks, and Bitty’s mind supplies any number of things that Jack’s words could imply.

“Yes,” he nods, yes to all of them, yes to everything. His heart’s beating so fast he’s shaking.

And then Jack stands and Bitty’s being pulled forward—he has to stand on his tip-toes to reach properly, but Jack’s arms are around him and they’re kissing and _oh, oh._ Jack’s hands are smoothing up and down his back, his lips are warm and genuine, and Bitty is drowning, floating off in a sea of exceeded expectations, of happiness and feelings and probably love.

Jack pulls away, and it’s only when he sets Bitty down that Bitty realizes that Jack had nearly picked him up. A laugh bubbles out of him. He feels lighter than air.

He buries his face in Jack’s chest, and Jack kisses the top of his head. “I’m happy,” Jack says, and that means more to Bitty than anything else Jack has ever said.

“Me too,” he smiles up at him.

“So,” Jack swallows. “What about Kent?”

xXx

It takes approximately another hour for Kent to win him over completely, to whisper increasingly dirty lines until arousal fills Bitty’s body until he nearly overflows. It takes half an hour longer for Bitty to convince Kent that going to his bedroom is a much better option than staying outside (because people could come _over_ here, Lord!) He persuades him with his hands and eventually his lips, crouching next to Kent among the leaves, sharing soft, wet kisses and thanking God that there are bushes obstructing the view from the back porch.

They hurry upstairs, fingers crossed that no one will see, darting into Bitty’s room and almost tripping over each other in their haste. Parse presses Bitty against the door as soon as it’s shut and locked behind them, kissing him everywhere he can reach, his face and his lips and his neck. “Fucking _finally_ ,” Parse murmurs, and then he tosses his hat in the floor and presses his forehead against Bitty’s with a silly grin. Bitty drinks him in, breathes, takes a moment to rest before he inevitably loses himself in Parse’s eyes. “You know, Bits—I’d been feeling really off earlier,” he says, and Bitty nods.

“Sorry,” he breathes, and it’s all he can think to say.

Parse shakes his head, his cowlick brushing back and forth against Bitty’s forehead. “It’s all right, because you sure turned me _on_ ,” he winks.

“ _Parse!_ Seriously?” Bitty huffs because Parse is unbelievable, Bitty can’t _believe_ he’s falling for this.

Parse slips his hand into Bitty’s, winds their fingers together. “We’re about to fuck. You can call me Kent, you know.”

“Can I call you Kenny?” Bitty says, and he had meant it to maybe be funny but Kent’s face hardens. “Oh, fuck—sorry, I shouldn’t—sorry,” Bitty apologizes quickly, starting to pull away.

“Wait,” Kent says. Then he closing his eyes, collecting himself. “You can—if you really want to, you can call me that, cuz—I should really be trying to let him go, especially if we’re doing this, yeah?” he sighs, and his eyes are bright when he opens them.

Some strange, illogical part of Bitty immediately wants to say that no, Kent should keep trying, even though it’s _Jack_ and that would go against every goal Bitty could possibly have in this situation. “I don’t want to make you feel bad, though,” he says instead.

“You won’t. I promise. You can say it,” Kent leans into him again, and Bitty slides his arms around Kent’s neck.

“Kenny,” he whispers.

“That’s right, babe,” Kent smiles softly, and Bitty wonders what Kent is thinking, wonders why Kent wants to do this with him at all.

And then Kent kisses him, licking slowly into Bitty’s mouth, and Bitty stops being capable of coherent thought.

“I want—“ Bitty mumbles into Kent’s lips, tugging at the back of Kent’s flannel. Kent reads his intentions, stepping back to shrug out of it and quickly pulling off his undershirt too.

“ _Oh_ ,” Bitty says, and stares, because those _muscles_. “Wow,” he breathes.

Kent pretends to look wounded. “I _am_ a professional hockey player, you know. I’m not as big as Jack, but.” He shrugs.

“That’s okay,” Bitty says quickly. “I don’t—get to _touch_ Jack,” he swallows roughly. He’s hard, so hard it’s almost uncomfortable, and he _needs_ —something, preferably Kent touching him now.

Kent gives him a cheeky grin and starts backing toward Bitty’s bed. “Well, c’mere then,” he sits, crooking a finger in Bitty’s direction.

“Yeah, okay,” Bitty says, his voice all heavy with lust. He walks over to Kent and slides his hands over Kent’s shoulders, down his chest, humming his approval. “Mmm.”

“Fuck,” Kent says, grinning at him. “I could get used to this.”

Bitty’s heart jumps—he’s not sure if it’s from happiness or surprise, because he’s pretty sure this is just sex but also he actually has no idea what Kent wants. As he’s searching for words, he glances to the side and—oh _shit_ , he’s forgotten to hide Señor Bun. “Hey, could you look over there for a second?” he murmurs, pointing in the direction opposite his pillows.

“Shy, Bits?” Kent stretches to kiss him, and Bitty indulges for a few content moments—Kent’s _good_ at kissing; he somehow knows what Bitty wants before Bitty wants it himself. He feels fuzzy, warm.

“I, um,” Bitty says when they break for air, because he’s actually managed to forget what he was thinking about, and that’s when Kent turns his head and sees the stuffed bunny. Oh, right. That. Shit. “Ah—“ Bitty holds out a hand as Kent goes to pick it up.

“Oh, sorry, I won’t touch it if you don’t want me to,” Kent says, surprisingly chill about the fact that Bitty has a stuffed bunny in the bed they’re getting ready to fuck on.

“Aren’t you going to make fun of me?” Bitty scrunches his brow, going over to retrieve Señor Bun and putting him on the desk (facing the wall, because Lord knows his poor rabbit doesn’t need to see this).

“Why would I?” Kent shrugs, laying down on the now vacant pillow. “My sister still sleeps with this elephant she got when she was a baby, it’s not that weird. Oh, that reminds me,” and he motions Bitty closer again. Bitty climbs onto the bed and props himself up on one arm. They’re so close that Bitty can feel Kent’s breath on his face.

“What?” Bitty asks, slightly preoccupied with trailing his fingers up Kent’s toned stomach.

Kent grins.  “I forgot my teddy bear tonight, and I’m kind of scared of the dark—so will you sleep with me tonight?”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Bitty shoves him in the shoulder, and Kent laughs so much Bitty’s almost afraid they’ll be heard.

“Actually, though, you should take your clothes off,” Kent nods matter-of-factly.

Bitty blushes and nods, sitting up to strip out of his shirt. “You, too,” he motions at Kent’s pants.

“You can take them off me,” Kent licks his lips, and Bitty’s whole body is throbbing.

“O-okay,” he shivers, leaning down and pressing a light kiss to Kent’s chest. He slides his hands down, finds the button of Kent’s jeans and undoes it, heart pounding.

“Hey—what do you wanna do, by the way?” Kent asks, stretching out, and Bitty would swear that Kent’s entirely unfazed by this if it weren’t for the speed of Kent’s pulse beneath his fingers.

Bitty drags Kent’s zipper down, and his nerves decide that this moment is the best time to surface. He doesn’t know how to say what he wants—he doesn’t think _everything_ is a valid answer. “I—“ he shrugs helplessly, and he should be taking Kent’s pants off right now but his nerves seem to have weakened his fingers.

“Bits—hold up, actually, cuz I’m not gonna to be able to think straight if we take our clothes off,” Kent holds his hand out, and Bitty crawls up and rests his head on Kent’s chest, wordlessly relieved. “It’s up to you, though. What we do, I mean. I have condoms,” Kent shrugs.

Bitty moans without meaning to; Kent’s chest is hot against his own and images flash through his head, images of him and Kent fucking, _God._

Kent chuckles and slides a hand down Bitty’s back, all the way down until he’s cupping Bitty’s ass through his shorts. “Would it help if I asked you what you’ve done before?”

Bitty nods; those are facts, and he can answer that. “Yeah, um, hand jobs. Blow jobs. Um, fingering.”

“You fingered someone or they did it to you?” Kent’s voice is calm, and Bitty envies his poise.

“Both,” Bitty flushes. He wants to touch Kent more, so he tilts his head up and kisses his neck.

“Ahh—that’s nice,” Kent encourages him, voice breathy. “Is—is that it? That you’ve done?”

“Yup,” Bitty pops the ‘p’, hoping he sounds more confident than he is. He sucks at Kent’s neck but not too hard—he doesn’t think Kent would want him to leave marks.

“Shit, okay,” Kent whispers. “Well, we can do some of those things, if you wanna wait for—for other stuff,” he offers. The _‘for Jack_ ’ is unspoken, but Bitty can hear it in the way he pauses.

“What have _you_ done?” Bitty wonders, kissing Kent’s jaw.

Kent laughs. “Oh, babe,” he murmurs.

Bitty pulls back. “What?”

Kent sighs. “I’ve done—probably most things you can think of, barring like, the kinkier stuff,” he admits. “And I guess I should tell you—I really really hope this doesn’t put you off, but let me know if it does—I’ve had a lot of sex.”

Bitty swallows hard. “Recently?”

Kent shakes his head—and it’s when the relief hits that Bitty realizes he’d been worried about just being—another notch in Kent’s belt, maybe. Just a sex thing.

He doesn’t think he wants it to be just a sex thing.

“Nah, not recently,” Kent says. “Like, a couple of years ago, I would pick a lot of chicks up in bars. Dudes too, but that was harder—paparazzi, you know.”

“But not anymore?” Bitty lays down next to him on the pillow. He realizes he’s not sure what color Kent’s eyes are, and even now he can’t tell—but they’re beautiful, whatever they are.

“This is gonna sound stupid,” Kent runs a hand through his hair, “But I stopped because I knew that Zimms would be graduating soon, and I guess I thought to myself that he wouldn’t want to be with the person I was then? I dunno, it doesn’t even matter anymore. Just means I haven’t gotten laid in a really long time,” he gives a one-armed shrug.

Bitty’s disappointed in himself—he hadn’t meant to make Kent _sad_. “For what it’s worth—I think you’re worth being with,” he says quietly, and Kent gives him a surprised smile.

“I would hope so, since I’m in your bed and all,” Kent murmurs jokingly, but Bitty can see the relief in his eyes.

“Should I be worried about like, STDs and stuff?” Bitty asks before he can forget.

“I’ve been tested since then,” Kent explains. “Also, condoms.”

Bitty nods. Good. “One more question, um. If you—if you haven’t had sex in a while,” Bitty starts, his mouth going dry. “Then—why now?”

Kent sighs, looping an arm around Bitty’s waist to pull him closer—their hips connect, and Kent’s _hard_ , Bitty can feel it, oh Lord. He whimpers without meaning to, and Kent gives him a smile that he’d almost describe as desperate. “Because this isn’t like that at all—for me, at least. I mean, I’m okay with whatever you want to give me, because obviously you like Jack and we both know you’re too good for me anyway, but—“

“Kenny,” Bitty stops him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Kent bites his lip, and Bitty gets distracted by how damn attractive it looks. Slowly, he rolls his hips, and Kent’s eyes drift closed. “Yeah, you are,” he says, and kisses Bitty long and hard. Bitty feels himself molding to Kent’s mouth, his body, to the slow rhythm of their hips pressing together.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Bitty smiles, feeling fuzzy and warm and very very turned on.

Kent kisses his nose. “You never said what you wanted to do,” he changes the subject.

Bitty shivers. “You.”

xXx

Bitty heaves a shaky breath. “I didn’t—I never texted Kent,” he admits. “I chickened out. I thought you’d be really mad if you found out.”

“Bittle, that’s—it would have been dumb for me to be mad about that,” Jack shakes his head. “And—I like you, but if you like Kent more…” he trails off, a sad droop to his eyes.

“I don’t—I don’t _know_ ,” Bitty lets his face drop into Jack’s shoulder, feeling miserable. “I just—I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I don’t want to be mean, but you probably already have,” Jack murmurs, and Bitty’s head shoots up.

“What? What did I do?” he asks, on the edge of freaking the fuck out because he didn’t _think_ Jack had seemed too distressed after they’d started kissing but maybe he’d missed something—

“I meant—Kent,” Jack swallows. “You said you didn’t text him. I think—I think if you don’t want to hurt anyone, then you should text him.”

Oh. That.

Bitty feels somehow worse, because it’s been a _week_ and all he’s been able to think about is he and Jack and how guilty he is about having to tip-toe around like it’s a dirty secret. “Won’t that—won’t that hurt _you_?” he asks, and his voice is shaky.

Jack shakes his head. “Text him. Because he deserves at least that, and because I’m a coward and I—I’m not strong enough to text him myself,” his lips twist.

“Honey…” Bitty murmurs.

“Text him,” Jack repeats, so Bitty pulls his phone out of his pocket, heart doing a funny flip in his chest. He opens his contacts and searches for the name he knows is there— _Kenny_. And this feels right.

He takes a deep breath. “We could maybe—text him together?”

xXx

They end up naked, Bitty on his back and Kent crouched between his legs. Kent’s kissing down his stomach, crawling farther down, and Bitty’s _dying_ —Kent kisses lower, suckles a hickey over his hipbone. “You’re shaking,” he nips at the crease of Bitty’s thigh, making him jump.

“Sorry—nervous, and I really really want— _oh fuck oh God Kenny—_ “ Bitty cries as Kent wraps his mouth around the tip of his cock.

Kent briefly pulls away. “Shh,” he rubs his thumb over Bitty’s hip, and Bitty clamps his mouth shut. Then Kent leans back down and licks at the head, sucks him _down down down_ and Bitty sees sparks, he’s dying he feels so good. He shoves his knuckles into his mouth because otherwise he thinks he would scream, because he can tell that Kent knows what he’s doing, Kent’s killing him slowly with every movement of his tongue.

“Ahh—stop, close,” Bitty fists his hands into the sheets and thinks desperately of not-sexy things as Kent pulls away, flopping down next to him.

“You’re so fucking responsive, it’s really hot,” Kent whispers into his ear, and Bitty shudders.

“I have to—I can’t—“ Bitty pants. “If you touch me I’ll come, so—I should touch you?” he asks, and Kent closes his eyes with a groan.

“I won’t stop you,” he murmurs.

“What do you want?” Bitty asks, and Kent shrugs.

“I dunno, anything—actually, hand me my jeans?” Kent gestures at the foot of the bed, where he’d kicked them off minutes ago.

“Here,” Bitty retrieves them.

Kent rummages around in one of the pockets, tossing a couple of condoms and a small bottle of lube onto the bed. He throws his jeans onto the floor, lying back and handing the lube to Bitty. “If you want,” he shrugs.

Bitty wants. “I—I might not be good at—stuff,” he says vaguely, staring at anywhere except Kent’s eyes.

“I’ll coach you through it if you wanna finger me,” Kent reassures him, patting Bitty’s thigh.

And, fuck, Kent’s the captain of the Aces, isn’t he? What is it with Bitty and falling for captains? He sighs at himself, climbing down until he’s sitting at the foot of the bed. “That’d help, probly,” he says, suddenly aware that his accent is coming out in full force.

Kent talks him through slicking his fingers, through starting with one and then adding more, pushing into the slick tightness of Kent’s body. Kent’s voice gets shakier and shakier until finally he cuts off mid-sentence and moans—“Fuck, fuck, you’ve got it.”

“Yeah?” Bitty crooks his fingers like Kent had told him to, and Kent’s hips thrust off of the mattress.

“ _Fuck_ —yes,” Kent groans. “So, um, don’t feel obligated but—I’d totally be okay with you fucking me right now?”

Bitty whimpers without meaning to. “I might—I might come really fast,” he warns, and Kent reaches down and grabs his hand, the one that isn’t covered with lube.

“’S’okay,” Kent smiles. “You’re doing so good.”

The compliment sends pleased electricity running up Bitty’s spine. “Kenny,” he shivers.

“Need help with the condom?” Kent offers.

Bitty swallows. “Uh—sorry, yeah,” he sits back on his heels, and Kent fumbles around with one of the wrappers, helping Bitty roll it on. And then Bitty’s hands are behind Kent’s knees and he’s folding Kent almost in half, positioning himself carefully, pushing in—

 _Fuck_.

It’s almost too much, Kent’s slick and so hot and so _tight_ that it’s a wonder Bitty hasn’t exploded, and Kent’s smiling at him, sliding a hand over Bitty’s hip and pulling him closer until Bitty’s somehow all the way in, chest heaving, body burning. “Kenny Kenny Kenny,” he keens, and Kent lets out a little half-sob that makes Bitty’s throat feel tight. Bitty registers that Kent’s got a hand between them and is jerking himself off, matching Bitty’s rhythm as he thrusts, rolling his hips. He’s not going to last, not at all.

“Perfect, baby,” Kent murmurs, and there’s something like affection in his eyes—Bitty comes.

His eyes squeeze shut and he’s sure he’s way too loud, but he can’t help it, he’s dying—he’s being ripped apart, his skin sparking at the edges, at every single place he’s touching Kent. And then Kent is squeezing impossibly tighter around him, Kent’s gasping, whispering his name, and Bitty feels all the emotions welling up inside him start to spill.

He pulls away because it’s too sensitive, rolls the condom off and throws it in the trash. Then he collapses next to Kent, who’s just finished cleaning himself off.

Bitty’s eyes are wet.

“Bitty—Bits, what’s wrong?” Kent notices almost immediately, and Bitty laughs, shaking his head.

“I—sorry, that was just. This was. Um, fuck, just, really really good, and I—I’m happy I think?” he says.

Kent pulls him closer until they’re nose-to-nose. “God, Bits.”

Bitty nods, because Kent hadn’t said much but Bitty knows how he feels anyway.

Kent sighs, pressing his lips to Bitty’s forehead. “Okay, so—obviously this isn’t gonna happen, but. I just—when I close my eyes—I see us cuddling, and falling asleep, and waking up next to you and then you making me breakfast, and—and this is a pipe dream anyway, so Jack comes downstairs and laughs with us and maybe I hold your hand—yeah. I dunno,” he shrugs, and then he kisses Bitty and shuts himself up.

Bitty kisses back, snippets of words like ‘ _please stay, don’t go’_ gathering together and forming a painful ball inside his chest. “So you mean—none of that will happen?” he asks, voice raspy.

Kent swallows; his eyes are dull. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep?”

And Bitty wants to tell him to stay longer—he really does.

But Jack’s room is across the hall.

If Kent stays, Jack will know.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead.

“Don’t be,” Kent whispers.

xXx

“I don’t know what to say,” Bitty sighs, pacing across the floor of Jack’s room.

“Neither do I,” Jack says, and he looks glum.

“Wait—“ Bitty stops, turning to look at him. “Are we—dating?”

Jack blinks at him. “I’m not sure?”

“Do you want to date Kent?” Bitty asks.

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” Jack says, looking nervous.

“Can I—“ Bitty says, and what he’s about to say is outrageous. His breath is coming fast. “Can we both date him?”

Jack stares at him. “You mean—all three of us—together?”

Bitty nods, face growing hot. “Y-yeah. Shit, um. Is that ridiculous?”

“Come here,” Jack says, and Bitty obeys, sitting in Jack’s lap. His heart sings with the warmth of it. “If you're sure, then, I’d—be okay with that. But Kent would have to decide.”

Bitty nods in agreement. “But—I don’t think this is the kind of thing you send over text.”

“Call him?” Jack murmurs, eyes wide at his own suggestion.

Bitty stares down at his phone, at the name that’s been displayed on it for the past five minutes.

He presses call.

xXx

When Bitty wakes, he’s immediately aware that he’s alone. The sunlight streams in his room just like always, but his head feels tainted by distress—and then he sees Señor Bun on his desk, and he remembers.

Kent’s not here.

He has to breathe deeply a few times to make sure he’s not about to cry. Then he sits up, walking across the room and rummaging through his dresser for a pair of underwear, putting them on. Huh. He’s had sex now—the hyped up, intercourse kind. It’s almost a weird thought.

He feels dizzy in a bad way, thrown off. His heart hurts, and Jack is across the hall, probably showering after his morning workout, going through his routine with no idea of what had happened last night.

The guilt hits him full force—what has he done? He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to face Jack like this, not after sleeping with Kent, not after _enjoying_ it so much he cried.

And he’s guilty too for feeling any sort of regret, so he closes his eyes and scrubs every tiny trace of it away. He’s not going to regret being with Kent. Kent’s worth more than that.

He probably will regret keeping this a secret, but he doesn’t see this working out any other way.

When he opens his eyes, they fall to his nightstand, and it’s then that he sees the note, scratched onto a post-it-note that matches the pad on Bitty’s desk.

_Hey, Bits. I don’t do sappy good-byes, so if you want me to shower you with compliments, you’ll have to text me. –Kent_

And then there’s a phone number, and a crooked smiley face.

Bitty puts the number in his phone with shaky fingers. Then he sits on his bed, staring at the place marked _Name_.

Slowly, he types _Kenny_.

xXx

Kent picks up on the second ring. “Bitty,” he says, and Bitty can hear relief in his voice even through the phone.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you,” Bitty blurts immediately. Jack’s beside him on the bed, holding his hand and anchoring him to the ground.

“Nah, it’s all right,” Kent says, and Bitty can almost hear him shaking his head. “It’s good—to hear your voice.”

Bitty’s face warms. “You, too,” he says, and he means it.

“I’m assuming you didn’t call me for the compliments, though,” Kent sighs.

Bitty wants to hold him, but Kent’s halfway across the country. “No,” he admits. “I—Jack’s here, and I don’t really know how to phrase this—this might be really strange, and I’m sorry if it weirds you out but, umm, gosh this is hard—“

“You’re dating Jack,” Kent guesses, voice flat.

“Close,” Bitty says, and takes a deep breath. “I was thinking—fuck. Sorry. I really don’t know how to say this.”

“I’m listening,” Kent says, his voice soft.

“What if,” Bitty starts slowly, squeezing Jack’s hand so hard it almost hurts. “What if, in the morning, you woke up and Jack and I were next to you? And then we’d go downstairs, and I’d make both of you breakfast, and Jack would be laughing with you and I would hold your hand—I really want to hold your hand,” he murmurs, fear snatching at his throat and roughing up the edges of his voice.

“Are you—are you asking what I think you’re asking?” Kent asks.

“Um. Maybe?” Bitty says, because he’s not really sure.

“Because if you’re saying that you want me to date both of you—I’d say yes,” Kent tells him.

Bitty’s face breaks into a weightless grin. Jack sees, mouthing ‘ _yes?_ ’ at the phone, and Bitty nods, his voice temporarily missing.

“Thank _God_ , eh?” Jack grins back at him.

“Jack’s there, right? Put me on speaker?” Kent says, and Bitty does it.

“Kenny,” Jack says.

“I’m sorry I slept with your boyfriend,” Kent apologizes.

Jack sighs. “I was jealous, but—he’s your boyfriend now too, I think.”

 _Boyfriend_. Bitty’s floating on happiness.

Kent laughs on the other side of the phone. It’s an incredulous, happy laugh. “I’ve got a ton of other stuff to apologize for, probably.”

“Same here,” Jack agrees. “It can wait until we see you?”

“It can,” Kent agrees. “Besides, I need to shower Bitty with compliments now, so there’s that.”

Bitty laughs, and Jack pulls him closer so that he’s leaning against Jack’s side, the phone balanced on his knees. “Kenny,” he whispers.

“So, remember how I told you I didn’t believe in love at first sight?”

“Yes,” Bitty laughs. He remembers. Beside him, Jack gives him a look that says he wants to know that story, and Bitty fully intends to tell him.

He can just imagine Kent’s grin as Kent says, “Well, you might just have changed my mind.”

xXx

Someday, somewhere, Bitty wakes up. He stretches, kisses his sleeping boyfriend on the head, and hops in the shower. It’s the weekend; he has time to make a big breakfast. French toast today, he thinks.

He pads downstairs and sets up his ingredients, hands working on autopilot as he whisks the eggs. He hears the front door open, then slam shut, followed by the sound of someone thumping up the stairs.

Minutes later, as he’s flipping the first batch of toast, someone walks in the kitchen. “Jack?” Bitty asks, not turning around.

“Nah, he’s in the shower,” Kent says, coming up behind him and setting his head on Bitty’s shoulder.

“You’re up early,” Bitty muses. “Actually—I’m surprised you’re not up in the shower with him.”

“Now that’s an idea,” Kent says slyly, and Bitty laughs. “Hmm, how much time left on the toast?”

“Probably a half hour or so. I want to make ham and eggs too,” Bitty twists his neck to look at him, grinning. “You’ve got time.”

“You’re so good to me, Bits,” Kent murmurs half-chirpingly, nuzzling briefly at Bitty’s neck. “Right. Be back in a bit,” he winks, and Bitty shakes with laughter as Kent runs back up the stairs.

Almost exactly half an hour later, Bitty’s plating everything when he hears two sets of feet on the stairway. Kent and Jack are talking strategy, of _course_ , and Bitty rolls his eyes because when are they not?

Both of them have wet hair, Bitty observes smugly as they all take their regular seats.

“Morning, Bitty,” Jack smiles. “Smells nice.”

“It’d smell nicer if you let me eat my shitty cereal, too,” Kent mutters with a grin.

Bitty eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t you commit _blasphemy_ on my breakfast table!” he counters, resting a hand on his hip.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” Kent assures him.

Jack laughs at both of them, drizzling maple syrup over his toast. “He snuck it into the shopping cart last time we went, you know.”

“Again? You’re unbelievable,” Bitty chirps.

Kent slides his hand over until it covers Bitty’s. “That’s not what you were saying last night, babe,” he winks, and Bitty nearly chokes on his mouthful of eggs. Jack starts laughing, laughs until his face is red, and Bitty feels a grudging smile forming on his lips.

“You _shush_ ,” he mutters anyway.

Kent mimes zipping his mouth shut. Of course, being Kent, he opens his mouth again two seconds later. “So, after breakfast—round two?”

Bitty shares a look with Jack, whose eyebrows are raised in interest—gosh, these boys are insatiable. But of course, so is Bitty. He flips his hand so that he’s holding Kent’s, his gaze roving over both his boyfriends, over hair that’s messy and eyes that are expectant. God, he loves them.

He smiles coyly. “I could be convinced.”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell about pb&j with me on [tumblr](http://omgpbandj.tumblr.com/) <3


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